


mercy (i'm begging you, please)

by obsceme



Series: welcome to your life [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Billy Hargrove, I don't know how this happened, M/M, Post Season 2, lord forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 18:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsceme/pseuds/obsceme
Summary: Somewhere, in a dark corner of his mind, Steve knows that he’s completely gone on Billy Hargrove. The boy has managed to crawl into that hollow space within his chest and make a home, and Steve knows that it’s beyond dangerous. It’s stupidity at this point. He knows better than to let someone fill those empty spaces within himself, knows it will only leave him fractured and destroyed when it ends. But with the way Billy presses sweet kisses along the curve of his jaw, peppering them up to his ear before sucking on the lobe, Steve honestly can’t bring himself to care.





	mercy (i'm begging you, please)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was primarily inspired by mercy by MØ, though the entire forever neverland album was listened to on repeat while writing this. this is honestly just a lot of smut (like, a lot), a healthy bit of angst, and some fluff sprinkled in here and there. this is also unbeta'd, so do with that what you will.

  _May 23, 1985_

Steve drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he watches the seats on the football field steadily fill with smiling families dressed in their Sunday best. _Graduation_. The cap on his head feels strangely tight, too snug and starchy given the heat of the Indiana summer. His heart is beating too fast, beads of sweat sliding delicately down his temples. Steve swallows thickly.

There’s this impending sense of doom crawling slowly up the back of his throat, and for the first time it has nothing to do with alternate dimensions or faceless monsters tunneling their way through the ground beneath his feet.

It has _everything_ to do with his lack of direction. There was a time, he supposes, before, when he thought he knew what the future held. There would be college, new friends and memories that don’t come with fear and blood and death attached. There’d be Nancy. Someone who believed in him, someone to navigate the murky waters of adulthood with.

Steve knows why he lost that. He can’t blame Nancy, nor would he try. He knows that he’d been a shitty boyfriend, said as much all those months ago. No doubt, Steve loved her, he’d loved her so much that sometimes it hurt. But she deserved more. He knows this.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Steve thumps his head on the seat with a heavy sigh. Maybe if things hadn’t been so crazy, maybe if they lived in a normal town, and lived actual normal lives, it could’ve worked with Nancy. Maybe, if things hadn’t literally turned upside down, if they hadn’t been thrown into this dark, horrifying new world, he would’ve spent time applying to colleges, or found a job.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be so royally fucking screwed.

A sharp rap on the window startles Steve out of his brooding. His mother stands impatiently, motioning for him to roll down the window.

“Steven James Harrington, I have been looking for you for half an hour! You need to go stand with your classmates, the ceremony is about to start,” his mother orders, one hand on her cocked hip, the other holding a camera.

Steve sighs, then pulls the keys from the ignition and begins to trudge to the other students. As he’s walking, he sees Nancy waving with a proud smile. His heart clenches. Steve gives a half-hearted wave back before finding his place amongst his classmates.

It takes only a few more moments of shuffling and clamoring around on stage before the ceremony begins. It also only takes a few moments for Steve to zone out as the principle begins his speech.

The sunlight is warm and gentle as it spills across his face. Steve turns his face up towards it. There’s this faint buzzing in his ear, and he comes to realize it’s the commotion going on around him, fading away as he drifts.

For a moment, he forgets the hollow ache in his chest. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel terrified. In fact, he might even say he’s numb. It feels good.

Steve doesn’t know how long he drifts in that quiet nothingness, sun warming him, pinkening his cheeks. It feels like an eternity that his mind floats away, so long that when he’s jolted out of his stupor it feels like all of the air rushes out of him at once.

“ _Billy Hargrove_!” Principle Coleman calls. The name feels like the stab of a needle.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone waits, but no one comes forth. Principle Coleman repeats himself, to no avail. Steve’s eyes burn into the place where Hargrove should be standing.

At the new angle of his head, Steve’s graduation cap now shields his face from the sun, but his cheeks never lose their rosy flush.

The ceremony moves on.

* * *

The smooth slide of liquor and cranberry juice down his throat and the pulse of music in his ears floods Steve with a brief feeling of familiarity, more tangible than anything he’s felt all day.

He hadn’t initially planned on attending Sheena Baker’s graduation party, but with his parents waiting for him at home to assess his path in life, he’d made the split second decision. Nearly the entire graduating class is packed into the modest split-level home, drinking and smoking and pretending like they aren’t terrified to be out in the real world after tonight.

Steve plays along with them. With Hargrove nowhere in sight, Steve remains the undefeated king of the kegstand, whooping and hollering along with his classmates as his mind becomes fuzzier and fuzzier.

At a certain point, Tommy H. gives Steve a devilish smile and cockily challenges him to a breath-holding contest in Sheena’s pool. Steve, drunk and impulsive, only pauses to give Tommy a confident (okay, that might be  _somewhat_ debatable) wink before diving into the depths of the deep end. He hears Tommy follow a split second later.

Tommy’s way of pushing Steve around was always challenging him to stuff he thought he was better at. And usually, Tommy would end up on the winning side. Maybe this situation would have been no different than any other day, but things were different now.

Steve searches for the bottom rung of the pool ladder to anchor himself, lungs already feeling tight. The seconds seem to tick by slowly, but Steve finds himself losing sense of it. The pulse of his heartbeat in his ears gets slower and slower. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, he hears Tommy shoot up out of the water.

Maybe he remains submerged too long, hazily wrapping himself in the gentle stillness. Maybe he doesn’t want to come up just yet, breaking this comfortable sensation of floating outside of himself.

It’s almost like a movie being unpaused, the way the chatter rises, music and drunken laughter pouring out from the house once again as his head pops up from the water. Tommy H. gives Steve an obligatory handshake after he climbs out of the pool before stumbling off to suck Carol’s face.

Steve just stumbles to the bathroom. He almost feels weird, observing himself in the mirror with alcohol still coursing through him. He looks like a wet mop, drenched from head to toe, and he feels a little ridiculous. He watches himself as he sighs, and for the first time, Steve just looks tired. Not angry or sad or scared, just exhausted.

Maybe he is exhausted, maybe he simply needs to hibernate for six months and then he can figure out what the hell to do with his life.

Only mere seconds tick by before Steve can no longer stand the sight of himself and swings open the bathroom door. Instead of being greeted by the hallway, he nearly plows straight into Billy Hargrove. Steve catches himself at the last second and takes a step back with a swear.

“The fuck were you doing, Hargrove? Listening to me piss?” Steve asks hotly, feeling a warmth in his chest that’s been absent for longer than he can recall. He’s drunk, which legally allows him to pointedly ignore the implications of that sensation. He’ll call it anger, even in the quiet parts of his mind where no one can hear.

Hargrove smirks. “If that’s what you’d like to think, Stevie, then sure.”

Steve makes a face before moving to shoulder past the other boy. What he needs right now is alcohol, and copious amounts of it. He does _not_ need to stand around analyzing this fire that sparks in his chest when Hargrove gives him that look, the one that Hargrove probably thinks is his aloof face, his one of perpetual indifference. To Steve, it comes off as scorching. He allows himself to pointedly ignore that thought as well.

Before Steve is able to take another step away, Hargrove stops him with a firm, but surprisingly gentle, hand on his bicep. The dim light of the hallway casts shadows over the other boy’s face. He watches as Hargrove pulls the joint from between his lips, almost in slow-motion, and exhales the smoke in a soft cloud over Steve’s face.

Steve feels like he can’t stop watching, like he couldn’t even if he tried. Maybe Steve’s drunk, or maybe he blacked out in the pool and this is some fucked up coma dream, because it almost feels like an electric current buzzes between them, faint yet recognizable.

The joint suddenly prods at Steve’s mouth. Frozen in place, he parts his lips gently to allow Hargrove to position the joint between them, taking maybe too long to close them when Hargrove begins to pull away. Before the other boy’s hand fully retracts, his thumb lightly grazes over the plushness of Steve’s bottom lip.

Hargrove’s hand then falls to his side. “Thought you might need that,” he says, his voice nothing more than a low rumble. Steve feels dizzy.

He closes his eyes as he takes a hit off the joint, feeling his brain turn even mushier. When his eyes reopen, Hargrove is gone.

Steve’s blood pulses. He wonders, for a brief moment, if he’d dreamed it all. _I need to go the fuck home_ , he thinks, shoving a hand roughly through his hair, which is turning crunchy from the chlorine as it dries. He stumbles his way to the kitchen, quickly dialing the only number he can remember at the moment when he reaches the phone.

“Nancy? Yeah, it’s me. I, uh...can’t drive,” Steve says, trying not to slur his words. It’s harder than he thought. “Could, um. Could Jonathan pick me up?”

He hangs up a moment later and makes his way to the front porch, which is relatively empty and quiet compared to the scene on the other side of the door. He’s far too tired, and far too fucked up, to be embarrassed about asking his ex-girlfriend if her new boyfriend can pick him up from a party like a homesick child asking to be picked up from a sleepover.

When Jonathan pulls up the driveway, he leaves the car running as he gets out to help Steve stumble to the passenger’s side door.

They don’t speak during the drive back.

* * *

  _July 5, 1985_  

Steve’s hands feel raw from aggressively scrubbing at the dried ice cream that has cemented to the counter over time. Another mindless task in between customers, something to occupy his hands and keep him busy. To keep him from staring impatiently at the clock that hangs above the door, watching the minutes slowly tick by.

He often spends his days at the ice cream parlor like this, letting his mind float away as he performs task after mindless task, trying to drown out the hollow ache that seems to have made its home in his chest.

But the gang keeps him company more often than not, drawn to the mall more than usual, what with the addition of a new movie theater with screens three times bigger than the ones at the theater in town.

It makes him happy, truly, that they come to keep him company as often as they do. The only problem is that he feels like an absolute failure when he listens to their stories and exciting new ventures. Because it seems as though everyone in his life is moving forward, while he’s scrubbing 5-year-old ice cream sludge off the counters in a ridiculous sailor costume.

Steve glances back up at the clock. _Only thirty more minutes_.

It’s 9:30 at night, and the shop is deserted of customers. He finds it rather ridiculous that the shop doesn’t close until the mall itself closes, especially given that customers have never once come in past 7:00. His manager is asleep in the back office, snoring loudly.

Rolling his eyes, Steve slings the rag over his shoulder and makes his way out from behind the counter, moving to wipe down the tables. He looks up when the bell above the door jingles, and nearly chokes on his own tongue when he finds Billy Hargrove standing in front of him.

The two hadn’t crossed paths since the graduation party. Steve had buried that night deep within the recesses of his mind, refusing to acknowledge it as anything more than a drunk hallucination. It was far too easy to convince himself that nothing had happened, so easy in fact that he didn’t have to try very hard not to give it second thought.

Hargrove smirks. “I thought that was you, Harrington. My, don’t you look pretty?” The curl of his lips looks almost dangerous, his eyes raking over his uniform. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, his shirt collar suddenly feeling too tight.

“We’re about to close,” he says stiffly. It feels like his heart is beating in his ears.

Hargrove pretends to think, then points to the sign displaying the store’s hours that hangs in the window. “Pretty sure it says 10:00 right here, Stevie boy,” he drawls. His eyes flick to the counter as he continues, “so why don’t you be a good boy and get your paying customer something sweet.”

Steve feels the flush spread down his neck, below the collar of his uniform. Something sharp and hurtful is at the tip of his tongue, but he falters. He’d been at the receiving end of Hargrove’s anger once before and it fractured his eye socket. His hand shoots up almost instinctively to the delicate, silvery scar that makes a perfect half-circle under his eye. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Coming right up,” Steve manages through gritted teeth, returning to his position behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”

Steve wants to punch the smug smile he gets in return right off of Hargrove’s face. Instead, he feels something throb in his gut. Steve convinces himself its anger.

Hargrove begins to take slow, calculating steps as he analyzes the flavor options. His finger drags lightly across the display glass as he walks, tongue poking out between his teeth. Steve’s face feels unnaturally hot.

“You know, I feel like I need to try a few samples,” Hargrove says, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

Steve huffs out a sigh and grabs the sampling spoons from beside the register. Hargrove considers his first choice. “Strawberry,” he decides, and Steve takes a scoop, then hands the spoon over the counter.

The next few moments? Steve can’t be sure of what happened. Hargrove slips the spoon between his lips, which Steve is now noticing are very red, almost like cherries. His brain short circuits when Hargrove tongues the ice cream off of the spoon like a cat, then licks his lips thoughtfully.

“Good, but too sugary,” is all he says before pointing to the butter pecan. “I’ll try that one next.”

Steve wonders if his voice has always sounded that silky. He takes a scoop of the butter pecan and hands it over the counter with hands that only shake a little.

If Hargrove takes note of the small tremor, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans a hip against the counter and takes the spoon from Steve, then licks all of the ice cream off in one long stroke. Steve is sure his skin is fuchsia at this point. He’s just leaning over to pretend to tie his shoe when Hargrove emits a low, far too sexual moan as he swallows the bite. Steve lurches upward and slams his head directly into the counter.

“Motherfucker!” Steve yelps, rubbing the lump already forming on the back of his head as he stands up.

On the other side of the counter, Hargrove has a dangerous glint in his eyes. He slowly leans himself over the counter, crowding into Steve’s space as he tosses the spoon into the trash bin, then meets Steve at eye level.

Steve stops breathing. They’re so close that he can feel Hargrove’s breath across his cheeks. He wants to take a step back and figure out how to breathe again, but he’s frozen in place.

“On second thought,” Hargrove starts, his breath sweet and sugary, “I don’t think I’m feeling ice cream tonight.”

Hargrove takes a step back from the counter, then turns and saunters out of the shop with his jacket slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing only a frayed Metallica crop top and jeans that hug his ass so sweetly that Steve almost lets himself wonder what it’d be like to grab a handful. The thoughts make him feel itchy.

When Hargrove disappears from view, Steve shouts a mediocre excuse about needing to leave early, not even bothering to listen for a response as he collects his things and bolts out the door.

* * *

The moment Steve shuts the door to his room he’s ripping off his sailor shorts, palming his groin before yanking off his underwear, nearly falling on his face as he tries to pull them off while scrambling to his bed.

He flops onto the bed, the rush of air ghosting over the swollen head of his cock. Steve’s mind tries to catch up with him, but he shuts it off, only letting himself feel the warmth pooling in his belly as his hand wraps around himself, stroking upward languidly. He tosses his head back with a high-pitched whine, hips canting upwards.

It almost feels similar to the wonder he’d felt the first time he ever touched himself and got something out of it. He’s too sensitive, too pent up. Steve feels delirious, head cloudy as he fists his cock with one hand, the other scrabbling to grab onto the blanket beneath him. His lips part and his breath comes out in short puffs, as if he can’t get enough air into his lungs.

There’s something he needs and he can’t quite figure out what it is. All he knows is that he feels like he’s vibrating out of his own skin, his whole body flushed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. In one quick motion, Steve flips himself over and begins humping himself roughly into his pillows with no real rhythm. He can hear himself speaking, maybe strings of curses or maybe even prayers, he doesn’t fucking know.

All he knows is with every pulse of his hips, his mind flickers to an image of Billy Hargrove on his knees, saliva dribbling down his chin as he lets Steve fuck his throat. Steve just _knows_ he’d take it so fucking good, he’d look so pretty choking on his cock.

Hargrove would most certainly have a filthy mouth too, which only makes the image of him letting Steve fill his throat up with cum become only that much more appealing. Steve grinds himself into the pillows, panting out pitiful, broken moans into the hot, stagnant air of his bedroom.

He wonders if Hargrove’s pretty blue eyes would water, if he’d blink up at Steve with long, wet lashes, if he’d sink down further onto his knees and spread his legs, squeezing himself through his jeans with a hint of desperation, moaning around the cock in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, _Billy_ …”

Steve cums in thick ropes over his pillows, swallowing the name that bubbles up in his throat once again. He shivers as he strokes the last bit out of himself, his body twitching of its own accord. Shakily, Steve throws the soiled pillows to the floor, grabbing a dirty t-shirt to clean the cum off of his bed.

Spent and tired, Steve opens the window above him, then spreads himself out on his bed, letting his overheated body cool off in the chilly night air.

Silence buzzes in his ears. The car had been gone from the driveway when he’d arrived home, signaling the absence of his parents. Steve blinks up at the shadowy ceiling, something bitter churning in his gut. Something like guilt, or shame.

He’d just gotten himself off to the thought of face-fucking Billy Hargrove. He’d even moaned out his name like a fucking girl. Steve feels gross, like he needs to shower a few times to fully feel clean again.

Steve isn’t queer. He just isn’t. He likes girls, with all of their curves and soft skin and hair that always smells like flowers. Hargrove does not fall into that category. And yet Steve came harder than he ever has in his life thinking about how good Hargrove’s lips would look wrapped around the length of his dick.

_Maybe_ , Steve thinks, _I need to reevaluate some things_.

* * *

   _July 10, 1985_  

The sun is scorching, seeming to burn Steve’s shoulders the moment his shirt comes off. He quickly grabs the bottle of sunscreen, warming it up between his hands before slathering it over his shoulders. On the other side of Nancy, Jonathan does the same.

The other boy had looked more than a little uncomfortable after he’d stripped himself of his shirt, eyes fixed on the ground. But once he’d seen the look of pure adoration in Nancy’s eyes, the tension had melted out of his shoulders.

Steve is almost jealous. Nancy had never looked at him the way she looks at Jonathan, like he meant everything to her. But Steve quickly realizes that he’s more jealous of what they have than of Jonathan himself. Because he’s happy that Nancy found what she needed, someone who understands her more than anyone else. More than Steve ever could.

Steve starts to get a headache from having to squint into the sun. He reaches into Nancy’s pool bag and fishes out his sunglasses. Steve slides them up the slope of his nose, then sits up to slather an extra coat of sunscreen over his torso.

He’s snapping open the cap of the bottle when a flash of red catches his eye. Steve’s head isn’t the only one that swivels in the direction of Billy Hargrove practically swaggering to the lifeguard station in nothing more than a pair of tiny, bright red shorts. But Steve’s hands _are_ the only ones that clamp down on a bottle of sunscreen so hard that the entirety of its contents splatter across his chest and neck.

“ _Steve_! What the hell?” Nancy shrieks, a glob landing in the middle of her forehead.

Steve flushes bright red, the commotion drawing a few eyes. Hargrove doesn’t look deterred, climbing up to his seat and lounging lazily. A few girls still remain close to his station, blushing and giggling, twirling their hair and batting their eyelashes. Hargrove winks, working them with his best bedroom eyes.

_Douchebag_.

Steve reaches over, using his towel to gently wipe the sunscreen off Nancy’s face. “Sorry. My hand cramped.”

Nancy doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t challenge him on it. She bats his hand away and gives him a sweet, forgiving smile before standing and offering her hand. She offers her other to Jonathan and says, “c’mon. Let’s all go make complete fools of ourselves. Oh! Or we could see who can hold their breath the longest, like we did when we were kids.”

Her smile almost makes her seem like she’s glowing, radiating warmth and tenderness. Jonathan grabs her hand eagerly, returning the smile.

Steve just flinches. “I’ll just be a minute. My stomach’s been acting up today,” he finishes lamely.

Nancy opens her mouth as if to argue, but she lets it fall shut, her eyes growing sad. She nods.

Steve watches her walk to the pool steps, hand-in-hand with Jonathan. He could say watching the two fit together so naturally is what causes that hollow emptiness to echo around in his chest, but he’d be lying.

He doesn’t feel it all the time, not when he’s occupied. Not when he’s surrounded by the people he loves. But it’s always there, lurking in the back of his mind, in the hollow spaces between his ribs. He’s unsatisfied with his life, and he’s been through a lot in the last two years. It weighs on him, despite having found the people who now feel like family. And now he sells ice cream in an absurd outfit at the Hawkins mall with no future prospects, like some sort of washed up degenerate.

Maybe he’s being hard on himself. Steve sighs, rubbing his temples. Maybe he’s rushing himself. Maybe he doesn’t have to have everything figured out right now, maybe he’s allowed to take some time to think. Not for the first time, Steve wishes he had a father he could really talk to, someone to get real guidance from.

Steve watches Nancy and Jonathan splash each other for a moment longer before he pushes himself up and strides towards the bathroom.

He splashes cool water over his face, dragging his hands over his features as he glares at himself in the mirror. To an outsider, he probably doesn’t look all that different than he had before he was sucked into a darker world that screwed him and everyone else up so terribly that they’re only now beginning to truly recover. But in his eyes, he looks a thousand years older. He feels like he is, too.

Steve jumps when the door next to him begins to creak open.

_Hargrove_. _Of fucking course_.

“Jesus Christ. Is this gonna be a thing with you now, Hargrove? Do I need to start checking over my shoulder every time I go take a leak?” Steve huffs, aggressively shutting off the faucet.

Hargrove’s hard stare changes rapidly. It turns into something nasty, and he gives Steve a bitter look. Steve can’t help but think it’s the first time in a long time that he’s been at the receiving end of a look like that.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Harrington,” he snaps. Steve watches him shoulder his way into a stall, slamming the door so hard that it rattles on its hinges.

Steve knows he should leave. Hargrove is clearly in one of his moods, the dangerous kind. But his feet feel like they’re cemented to the floor, something that feels close to shame burning like acid in his gut. He has no room to make snippy comments when not even a week ago he’d creamed himself at the thought of Hargrove choking on his dick. Steve’s cheeks heat up at the memory.

He’s still standing in the same place, lost in his thoughts, when the toilet flushes and Hargrove stalks out of the stall. Steve finds his eyes and for a brief moment his world seems to tilt.

_Quit swooning like a fucking girl. Stop acting like a goddamn queer._ Steve berates himself, willing himself to break eye contact first. Only deep down, where his darkest secrets live, will he be willing to admit that he doesn’t try very hard.

Hargrove still has that look in his eye, the wild, unpredictable one that Steve had seen many times before. He thinks again that he should leave, that there’s something ugly brewing in Hargrove’s eyes, something he isn’t going to like. Hargrove goes out of his way to roughly shove past Steve to get to the sinks. He doesn’t look up as he scrubs at his hands.

Steve finally gets his feet to obey, turning to slip quietly out the door.

“How many?”

Stopping in his tracks, Steve lets the door fall shut again, turning towards the voice. “What?”

Hargrove blinks at him before shifting closer, close enough that Steve can see the oil slicked over his tan, freckled skin. Close enough that the faintest outline of scars scattered across his body, like an abstract painting, are visible.

Hargrove reaches out and traces the scar under Steve’s eye, finger hovering just over his skin. “Stitches. How many did you get?”

Steve sucks in a breath and tries not to shiver. “Six.”

The other boy’s face twists with something unidentifiable. He averts his eyes, toying with the ring on his pinky finger. Steve supposes he’s trying to look nonchalant.

“Look. Y’know. I shouldn’t have -” Hargrove falters, and Steve can see the blank look slide over his eyes as he backpedals. Moving around Steve to swing the door open, Hargrove looks back and says, “cocoa butter. It helps fade ‘em out.” His hand motions to the scar once again before he disappears out into the too-bright sunshine.

Steve has to practically hold his face under the spray of cool water to feel normal again. It feels like days have passed when he finally emerges from the bathroom, but he comes to find out that it's only been ten minutes. He quickly joins Nancy and Jonathan in the water.

As they goof around, his eyes flicker up to the lifeguard station. Hargrove is making eyes at someone’s questionably attractive mother, as though he hadn’t been having a strangely intimate moment with another guy in a public pool restroom moments before. Steve finds himself desperately wanting those eyes to turn his way.

Instead, Steve swallows a mouthful of pool water that Nancy splashes in his direction.

* * *

  _July 16, 1985_

When Steve agreed to accompany the kids to the Hawkins summer fair, he hadn’t been aware that Max had invited her stepbrother to come along. Steve tries to believe that he never would have agreed to go if he’d known, but he knows himself too well by now.

Hargrove walks next to him, making sure to keep at least six feet of distance safely between them. Max had claimed that his presence was only there to be their source of cash, and to win them prizes. But Steve can’t help but feel like maybe when the dynamic shifted between them, Max and Billy ended up more like true siblings than either would care to admit.

They’re standing at a booth lined with plush toys and blinking lights, letting Dustin have his shot at the ring toss.

“Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!” Dustin groans as his last ring swivels around the top of a bottle several times before swinging off and clattering to the floor. “God damn it. I’m telling you it’s rigged.”

Steve chuckles. “It’s the county fair, man. Of course it’s rigged.” He brushes away a lock of hair that falls across his forehead.

“Billy, want to grab me a funnel cake?” Max asks her brother sweetly, though she gives him a warning look.

Hargrove rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh, nodding in acknowledgment. As he turns to walk away, Dustin shoves some coins into Steve’s hands, asking him to go as well and grab him a corndog. The others nod their agreement.

“Dustin, this is three quarters,” Steve says, voice flat. The six kids in front of him look back innocently. “God damn it,” he sighs, turning to head towards the closest food vendor.

Hargrove is being handed Max’s funnel cake when Steve walks up. He thinks the other boy will simply walk back over to the kids now that he’s gotten his food, but Hargrove lingers as Steve orders six corndogs and probably too many mustard packets.

“You enjoy this shit, don’t you?” Hargrove asks after a beat. “Kids and all that.”

As the vendor piles the corndogs into a bag, Steve shrugs. “Sure, why not?” He answers honestly. “Kids are alright.”

Hargrove considers this while Steve exchanges a few bills for the food bag. As they walk back to the group, Hargrove speaks again. “I’m shit with kids.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Steve’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. Hargrove looks at him sharply, his mouth open to hurl an insult back. It snaps shut again when he sees the small smile playing on Steve’s lips.

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Hargrove says with a snort, but his expression has relaxed into something easy and light.

“Sure thing, Billy.”

It takes all of Steve’s willpower to not turn back and observe Billy’s reaction. Instead, he saunters up to the booth to grab a few rings. He manages to get three rings onto the bottles, earning himself a choice of either a stuffed dragon, or a light-up yo-yo.

“Which one are we thinking?” Steve calls back, twisting to look at the kids. Billy is looking at him, something dark and unreadable swimming in his eyes. The sound of the kids arguing fades into the background and Steve feels exposed, like a raw nerve.

The kids finally settle on the dragon, and then they’re shouting about the house of mirrors before taking off towards it. Steve calls after them, reminding them to not get separated. He stops briefly to throw their food trash into a bin, and when he turns back, everyone is gone.

Steve makes his way into the house of mirrors, eyes blinking rapidly as they adjust to the dim, multicolored lights and distorted mirrors. He’s winding his way through, following the hoots and hollers of the kids up ahead.

To Steve’s right, one of the mirrors swings out, and he’s dragged into a small storage closet.

“What the fuck?” Steve yelps, stumbling as he’s crowded into the muggy, confined space. As his eyes adjust to the near-darkness, he makes out Billy leaning against the opposite wall, the door clicking gently as it shuts. “Are you planning to murder me in here? How the fuck did you even find this?”

Billy’s lips twitch. “Worked at one of these in California once, on Halloween. There’s lots of little hidey-holes in these things.”

“Gee, thanks for the tour,” Steve huffs, combing his hair back with his fingers. “Maybe find something cooler than a broom closet to show me next time you decide to kidnap me.”

“Had to get you alone,” Billy says easily, but there’s something glinting in his eyes. Something that makes beads of sweat drip down the base of Steve’s spine. “Wanted to hear you say it again.”

“Say what?” Steve croaks, blood rushing in his ears as Billy leans close, pressing his hand flat against the wall next to Steve’s head.

“My name.” He practically purrs it, and Steve feels goosebumps erupt across his entire body. He tries to keep it together, but his head is swimming. He’s intoxicated by Billy’s scent, a mixture of cologne and cigarettes and cinnamon gum.

“Billy,” Steve gasps, and that’s the end of whatever this unspoken thing is that they’ve been dancing around for months.

Steve’s head thumps against the wall behind him as Billy surges forward to kiss him. It’s hungry, sloppy, and as filthy as Steve imagined it would be. Steve tangles his fingers in Billy’s hair, whimpering when he feels the sharp sting of a bite being pressed into his bottom lip. Steve’s legs fall open easily as the other boy nudges his knee between them.

He immediately grinds himself down onto Billy’s thigh, rolling his hips against it as their lips detach. He stutters out a moan, lips parting. For a moment, Steve flushes, wondering how absurdly desperate he looks rutting himself into Billy’s thigh, one roll of his hips away from shooting his load in his pants. But when he opens his eyes, Billy is watching him with an intensity that almost burns, his pupils blown wide.

“So fucking pretty,” Billy marvels, using one warm, rough hand to cup Steve’s jaw and tilt his head to the side. He drops his own head down and sucks a bruise into the skin just below Steve’s right collarbone. Steve’s hips jerk against the thigh between them in response. “Say my name, baby. Come on, say it.”

When Steve complies, it comes out as a moan. A blush blooms across his cheeks again. Billy nuzzles his head into Steve’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. “I’m going to suck you off. Is that okay, baby? Will you let me do that for you?” Billy croons in Steve’s ear, before grasping his hips and helping him grind down harder into his thigh.

The air rushes from Steve’s lungs. “Fuck. Yeah, yes, _yes_.”

And then Billy’s moving south. Steve’s brain feels like it has melted, a useless puddle of mush sloshing around inside his head. Everything rushing around in his mind seems to fall silent as Billy works on undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. His movements come sharply into focus, everything and anything falling away as Steve’s jeans and underwear are pushed down his thighs.

It doesn’t feel real. It feels like something out of a cheap erotic novel, not something that happens in real life. Steve has had his share of adventurous sexual encounters before, but nothing like this. Nothing has ever felt as raw, as real and heady and intoxicating, as watching Billy Hargrove’s eyes darken at the sight of Steve’s length as it springs free, curving up towards his belly.

He reaches out, combing a hand through Billy’s hair. It almost feels too intimate when Billy relaxes into it. It feels like something Steve might not be able to live without once this is over, and that’s dangerous. But when the heat of Billy’s mouth circles around his cock, Steve’s brain melts once again. He cries out, hips bucking up into the wetness.

Billy sucks cock like he was born to do it. Steve is a babbling mess within the first thirty seconds, eyes rolling back into his head and his toes curling as he sinks into the velvety heat of Billy’s mouth.

“Fuck, Billy. You’re so good, you’re doing so fucking good for me,” Steve pants, hips thrusting involuntarily. He feels the head of his length breach Billy’s throat, then hears the other boy gag. “Shit, sorry, are you okay?” Steve manages to get out, stilling his hips.

Billy responds by sucking nearly his entire cock down his throat again. Steve can feel his thighs trembling, straining to not thrust his hips forward. Billy’s eyes begin to water, salty tracks weaving down his cheeks. Steve brushes them away with his thumbs, before threading his hands back through the mess of dirty blonde curls before him.

“You think I’m pretty?” Steve gasps out as Billy drags the flat of his tongue over the head of his cock before sinking back down again. “You should see yourself right now, with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock. You look just as perfect as I imagined.”

This seems to only spur Billy on. He wraps a hand around the base of Steve’s cock, stroking his fist upward in time with his mouth. It only takes a moment for Steve to tip over the edge, trying to pull back before his cum spills down Billy’s throat.

The grip Billy has on his hips doesn’t let up, and Steve’s cock glides back down Billy’s throat, spilling ropes of cum into his mouth. Steve can’t stop crying out Billy’s name, can’t stop thrusting up into the tight heat of his mouth until the last drop of cum is wrung out of him. Billy drinks it up almost greedily, then pulls away and sits back on his heels.

Somewhere, a voice reminds Steve that Billy’s dick is still hard and straining against his jeans. Steve tries to find the energy to reach out and pull the other boy back to him. He hears voices faintly calling their names, but he doesn’t care. Billy, however, has other ideas. He shakes his head, gently batting Steve’s hands away as he stands up.

“Another, time, honey. They’re looking for us,” Billy shushes as Steve whines in complaint.

Normally, being called honey would do the very opposite of turn Steve on. When it falls so easily from Billy’s lips, however, his spent cock twitches in interest, a flush spreading down his neck. Billy smiles devilishly.

Steve doesn’t have much time to collect himself. They decide to exit the storage room separately, Steve heading out first, Billy waiting to exit a few moments later.

His legs still feel like jello, and stray droplets of cum become cold and tacky in his jeans.

“Where the hell did you guys go?” Mike asks once Steve locates the group, making faces in one of the distorted mirrors with Eleven.

“Had to take a leak,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Billy’s not here either?”

“I went to have a smoke, don’t shit your pants,” Billy says as he rounds the same corner Steve had just come from. Steve hopes they don’t look too suspicious. Or at least, that he himself doesn’t look too suspicious. It seems almost too easy for Billy to settle his expression into his usual blank, emotionless mask. Steve, on the other hand, isn’t exactly the master of hiding his emotions.

They make their way out of the house of mirrors. Steve can’t help but sneak quick looks at Billy every now and then, who seems completely unbothered by the previous hour’s events. And well, that just won’t do.

Next time, Steve promises himself, is Billy’s turn to fall apart.

* * *

  _July 22, 1985_

As he makes his way up the darkened steps of the theater, Steve lets his eyes scan over each face, trying to locate a tangle of blonde curls and a pair of bright blue eyes. He spots Billy in the very back row, the rest of the row empty, as well as the four rows in front of him. Billy’s lounging lazily with one foot propped up, and one arm slung over the empty chair next to him.

Steve stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket nervously as he makes his way over. He sits awkwardly in the chair with his heart thudding in his chest. He doesn’t know what to call this thing is that they’ve started with each other. Honestly, he’d thought it ended after the incident at the fair, given that he didn’t hear from Billy at all afterwards until he’d sidled up to the counter during the middle of Steve’s shift earlier this afternoon, simply to tell him to buy a movie ticket and meet him in theater 12 at 7:30.

Time seemed to drag by miserably slow, until Steve started making his way to the theater. Then the walk suddenly seemed much too short.

Billy’s arm curls a little tighter around the seat, his warm hand gently grazing Steve’s shoulder. Steve leans into it almost instinctively, the erratic beat of his heart slowing as he lets himself relax into the other boy’s warmth. They spend a few moments just watching the movie, before Steve’s eyes flicker to Billy’s profile.

He wants to touch him. Billy seems to be in no hurry to even acknowledge Steve’s presence, his eyes focused on the film. Steve thinks it might be a challenge. And if it isn’t, hell, he’ll make it one. It had been days since their encounter in that dimly lit storage closet, and Steve was hungry for more. If he’d felt at all riddled with guilt and confusion over his screwed up feelings and desires over the past few days, it had melted away from his mind the moment Steve sank down into the seat next to him.

Steve glances at Billy again, only to find him staring right back. Billy looks almost curious, waiting patiently to see what Steve’s next move will be. In all honesty, Steve has no fucking idea what to do. He’s not experienced in this area when it comes to other men. Hell, it’s not a situation he ever would’ve thought he’d have to worry about being in.

His life has become so fucking complicated. Somehow even more complicated than when he was fighting creatures from another dimension on the regular.

Steve decides to go for it. His hand reaches over to the waistline of Billy’s jeans. He lets it creep up Billy’s shirt, scratching lightly through the thatch of hair disappearing under his waistband.

He pauses and looks back up at Billy, who shifts in his seat to allow Steve easier access. “Come on then,” Billy coaxes, voice low and sinfully smooth.

Steve takes a moment to glance around the theater. Hardly anyone else is there, not for a movie that has been out for over a month. No one is close enough to be paying attention to the two boys tucked away quietly in the darkness of the back row.

He slides out of his seat, crouching down on his knees in front of Billy. Those blue eyes are locked onto him, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Steve realizes he still has his stupid work hat on, and moves to pull it off. Billy stills his hand with a smirk.

“Keep it on,” Billy orders, voice lightly teasing, though there’s still the undercurrent of Billy’s very real arousal.

“Seriously?” Steve complains, hands falling to Billy’s thighs.

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have thought he’d seen Billy flush red in that moment. “Yes,” Billy says through gritted teeth, his hands curling back around his armrests. “Be my dirty little sailor, yeah?”

Steve almost has the compulsion to laugh, but the look Billy is giving him only makes Steve shiver. One of Billy’s hands pushes gently through Steve’s hair, careful to keep his hat from toppling to the floor. Steve relaxes on his knees, humming as Billy massages his scalp. It leaves him feeling boneless and warm.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Billy’s palm before working on the zipper of his jeans. He inches them down Billy’s hips, with the help of Billy lifting his hips out of the seat momentarily. He lets Billy’s underwear slide down his thighs along with his jeans, though he doesn’t let himself fully take in Billy’s hardness until he’s gotten the pants down far enough.

Steve may be stalling. He’s never wanted to have something in his mouth as badly as Billy’s cock, but that’s precisely what worries him. Steve wants this to be good for Billy, but he also wants to understand what drives this unquenchable thirst to see and touch and taste the boy beneath his fingers.

He can’t think of anything that drives him as wild as Billy fucking Hargrove, or anything that’s ever gotten him so hard or made his heart feel so light in his chest.

Once he finally takes in the sight of Billy’s length, his mouth waters. His cock is thick, long, and flushed red, a single vein running from the base to halfway up. Billy had been leaking a mess into his underwear, leaving sticky dribbles of pre-cum glistening on his skin.

Steve leans forward, cleaning them off with his tongue, and Billy’s head falls back, fingers gripping the armrests even tighter. Steve finds a freckle nestled in the neatly trimmed thatch of hair surrounding Billy’s dick, and he smiles, leaning down to give it a sweet kiss before taking Billy’s cock in his hand.

Steve pumps his wrist once, experimentally, his eyes locked with Billy’s. The other boy looks wrecked, lips swollen and glistening from where Billy keeps biting them. His eyes are heavily lidded, but he watches every move Steve makes, his eyes never once leaving him. Steve pumps his wrist again and Billy’s fingers twitch.

All at once, Steve feels frustrated at the lack of Billy’s skin touching his own. He lets go of Billy’s cock, using his hand instead to drag one of Billy’s hands back to his hair.

Then he’s taking the tip of Billy’s length into his mouth, his lips stretching wide as he sinks lower. Billy lets out a low hiss, his fingers twisting into Steve’s hair, pulling involuntarily. Steve moans around the cock in his mouth, feeling goosebumps erupt across his skin. Billy’s legs fall open wider, allowing Steve to nestle further between them.

He sets a somewhat choppy rhythm, unpracticed in the field of sucking dick. Billy doesn’t seem to mind one bit, his eyes burning holes into Steve’s, his hips twitching upwards with every upstroke of Steve’s mouth.

“God, baby, you look like a fucking angel like this,” Billy pants, hand untangling from Steve’s hair to fall to the lips stretched around his cock. His thumb catches against Steve’s bottom lip, and Billy seems to just stop and watch in wonder as his cock slips further into the hot, wet heat of Steve’s mouth. “Fucking Christ. Look at you. Don’t ever want to stop looking at you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart flutters in his chest, the words seeping into his skin and simmering underneath. He hollows his cheeks on his next upstroke, sucking gently. This time, Billy moans, low in his chest, and thrusts his hips upwards, his cock almost touching the back of Steve’s throat. He feels himself swallow around Billy involuntarily.

“Oh, _fuck_ , do that again,” Billy whines, both of his hands buried in Steve’s hair, cradling his head gently. Steve pulls off and takes in a gulp of air, before sinking back down and swallowing again, constricting his throat around the head of Billy’s swollen cock. “God damn, Stevie. Want to fuck your pretty mouth.”

Steve pulls off of Billy’s cock with a soft pop. He takes a few deep breaths, then says, “so what are you waiting for?”

For the first time ever, Billy is the one who stumbles for his words. Steve can’t help the smile that creeps across his lips. Billy looks ready to plunge his cock back into Steve’s mouth and fuck down his throat until he fills him up with his cum. Steve feels his nipples harden at the thought, his already aching cock hardening even more.

Instead, Billy asks, “are you sure?” and it’s so soft, so gentle, that Steve is genuinely startled. Steve nods, licking his lips in anticipation.

The head of Billy’s cock slips past Steve’s lips once again. Billy positions himself at an angle where he can comfortably thrust his hips up into Steve’s mouth without hurting him. “Breathe through your nose, okay?”

Steve nods, and Billy begins to thrust upwards. It’s slow at first, Billy letting out soft, breathy moans. Steve relaxes his throat as his dick makes its way deeper into his mouth with every thrust. As his thrusts speed up, Steve can feel the blunt head of Billy’s thick length hit the back of his throat. Steve starts to gag before the back of Billy’s hand brushes over his cheek.

“Breathe, baby, breathe,” Billy coaxes, his other hand cradling Steve’s jaw.

The entire situation is far more intimate than Steve was initially anticipating. Which he has to wonder about, given that he knew he was coming here to have forbidden sex with another boy in the back of a public movie theater. But there’s something about the intimacy of the act, the trust he instills in Billy not to hurt him, that leaves Steve feeling exposed.

Steve regulates the breathing through his nose, his throat relaxing once again. He figures out that fluttering his throat around Billy’s cock every time he thrusts into his mouth will pull a delightful little grunt from Billy’s lips and make his hips stutter.

Billy’s thrusts begin to speed up again, getting sloppier and more erratic. Steve hums around Billy’s girth, eyes fluttering closed at the rhythmic slide of Billy’s dick down his throat and the electric friction growing between his lips.

“Stevie, baby, ‘m gonna cum soon,” Billy pants out, moving to pull Steve off.

Steve bats his hands away, determined to swallow every last drop that Billy spills down his throat. “C’mon, it’s - _fuck_ \- you’re going to choke.”

But Steve pins Billy’s hips to the seat, engulfing Billy’s length in his mouth in one hard stroke, allowing the thickness to slide down his throat as far as it’ll go. Steve immediately swallows around the intrusion. The other boy’s hips jolt up of their own accord, shooting thick ribbons of cum down Steve’s throat almost instantly.

It seems to be taking all of Billy’s willpower not to cry out, his fingers clawing at the armrests. Steve has no idea if they’ve been spotted at this point, but he’s so far beyond caring.

He easily swallows the first few spurts of cum, but quickly realizes what Billy had been trying to warn him against. Billy cums faster than Steve can swallow, and he chokes on the next few spurts, the excess starting to dribble out of his mouth.

Billy pulls Steve off quickly, pumping the last bit of his cum onto Steve’s face. It splatters prettily over the pale skin of Steve’s throat and chin.

Steve watches the last few tremors roll through Billy’s body, his throat already aching. Billy drags his fingers through the cum glistening on Steve’s skin, then dips them into Steve’s mouth. Steve cleans them off eagerly, tongue making quick work of the mess coating the other boy’s fingers.

“Such a good boy,” Billy whispers, enraptured by every soft stroke of Steve’s tongue between his fingers. He looks the way Steve feels, gut-punched and wrecked in every way. Steve stays between Billy’s legs for a while longer, letting the other boy card his fingers through his hair while he rests his cheek against his thigh.

But the movie is nearly over. They make quick work of their clothes, rebuttoning and situating themselves to look somewhat presentable on the way out. Steve fixes his rumpled shirt and lopsided sailor’s cap, glancing around the theater for the first time in nearly an hour. No one had moved, or appeared to have witnessed the filthy scene going down only a few rows back.

Steve feels more content than ashamed this time around. He almost feels giddy, lighter without that hollow ache carving itself into his every crease and corner.

When he glances over at Billy, his heart sinks.

Billy’s face is smooth and expressionless, a cold mask compared to the electricity that had fizzled between them moments before. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. I’ll move a few rows down, that way no one even knows we sat together, yeah?”

A block of ice feels like it’s been dropped into his stomach. Steve tries to keep his voice even as he says, “yeah. Sounds good.”

He watches Billy climb easily over the next three rows, settling himself into a seat that’s a much safer distance away.

When the lights come back on and the curtain raises, Steve just feels dirty and alone.

* * *

  _August 15, 1985_

The mall is crawling with families, shopping for back to school necessities as the school year quickly approaches. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are supposed to be combing through discount bins of school supplies, but instead they’d convinced Steve to let them stop in the comic book store around the bend from the ice cream parlor. Steve had told them they had ten minutes, but being the pushover he is, it had turned into over an hour.

Steve glances out the window above the register, watching the sun begin to set behind the clouds. “Alright, wrap it up guys,” he sighs.

“Just five more minutes, just five,” Mike pleads, not looking up from the stack of comic books he’s thumbing through. “Then we’ll be done, promise.”

“You’ve said that three times already,” Steve reminds him. “Your mom is already going to skin me alive for not getting you anything on this list.”

He holds out a crumpled paper, where Mrs. Wheeler had given him an unreasonably long list of items the kids would need for the impending school year. She’d also given him a modest amount of cash, which Steve felt guilty even having in his pocket after letting the kids fuck around with comics all day.

Dustin groans. “God damn it. I told you they wouldn’t have any, did I not say they wouldn’t have any? We should’ve come sooner. Son of a bitch.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Would you stop whining? You’re just mad because I got one before you.”

“Only because your girlfriend’s brother is scared of a thirteen-year-old,” Dustin argues. They bicker for a moment before Steve breaks it up.

“Alright, alright. We’re leaving, _now_. If you’re not following me to the car in the next five seconds then you little shits can walk home,” Steve threatens, though his voice holds no real malice. The three boys groan, shuffling out of the shop behind Steve.

He drops them off one by one, only getting a slight earful from Mrs. Wheeler about not making sure the list had been taken care of. Her smile had returned once Steve handed her a bottle of wine he’d picked up on the way to the Wheeler house and gave the full amount of her cash back, promising to really take the kids school shopping next week.

“Those boys sure love their comics,” Mrs. Wheeler sighs, giving him an exasperated smile.

“You’re telling me,” Steve says with a grin. “I’ll see you next week, Mrs. Wheeler.”

Steve gives her a kiss on the cheek before heading out the door, jogging to his car. The ride to back to his house is peaceful, the sun setting in a haze of bright oranges, yellows, reds, and faded blues. He rolls his windows down and lets the wind whip against his face.

When he pulls up to his house, he slams on his breaks in surprise. The driveway, which had been empty for three days now what with his parents being on yet another business trip, now holds a blue Camaro, with an unreasonably pretty Billy Hargrove perched on the trunk. The last slivers of sunlight filtering through the trees catch Billy’s blonde curls, turning his hair into a halo of fire.

Steve finishes pulling up the driveway, pausing for a moment before pulling his keys from the ignition and stepping out. Billy hops off of his trunk, tossing his cigarette butt onto the ground and extinguishing it with his boot.

“Any particular reason why you’re loitering in my driveway?” Steve grouches, trying to feign nonchalance as he walks past Billy to the front door. He hears Billy follow leisurely behind.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you, sweetheart?” Billy says innocently, but when Steve turns around, there’s a fire in his eyes that Steve knows can’t mean anything good.

Steve sees the faint outline of what must have been an atrocious bruise, spilling over the bridge of his nose, bleeding into the corners of his eyes. The rings under his eyes are still tinged deep purple. Steve can’t help but wonder who Billy had been fighting this time, and who had been skillful enough to break the boy’s nose. Steve doesn’t ask, and instead ushers Billy into the house.

Billy whistles. “A castle fit for a princess,” he says with a smirk. Steve rolls his eyes and heads to the kitchen. When he’d stopped to grab wine, he’d made sure to get some food for the night, knowing that otherwise he’d come home to an empty fridge.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Steve asks again, leaning against the counter. His heart starts to thud in his chest when Billy circles the counter, slow and calculating, like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

Billy stops just in front of Steve, reaching up to comb Steve’s windblown hair out of his face. “I think you can figure that out all on your own, Stevie boy.”

Steve gulps. “And if I said I wasn’t interested?”

Billy drops his hands, slipping them into the pockets of his leather jacket with a shrug. “Then so be it,” he says easily, moving to take a step back. Steve is only moderately embarrassed at how quickly he shoots a hand out, fingers grabbing onto one of Billy’s belt loops.

“I said _if_ ,” Steve growls, yanking him back.

This time, Billy’s tongue tastes faintly of whiskey and toothpaste. He licks into Steve’s mouth, working Steve over until he’s a hard, aching mess. Billy’s hand cups Steve’s growing bulge, thumb stroking over the denim with a delicious friction.

“We can use my room,” Steve gasps, taking a moment to untangle himself from Billy’s lips.

But Billy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so,” Billy drawls, tugging Steve closer by hooking his thumbs into Steve’s pockets. “I think I’m going to take you apart right here.”

Steve goes boneless in Billy’s grip, shuddering at the thought of Billy laying him back and sucking the life out of him on the island of his parent’s kitchen. His legs spread of their own accord, ready for whatever Billy has in store for him.

“God, look at you,” Billy murmurs. His voice is awestruck, and he presses Steve up against the island, taking a step back to admire the trembling mess he’d created. He takes a step forward, slotting himself between Steve’s legs. “Do you trust me, sweetheart?”

The question is sudden, and Steve pauses to consider it. He thinks back to the night in the movie theater, how he’d so quickly and so easily trusted Billy to not hurt him on that grimy theater floor, how Billy had been so careful with him. But he also thinks of the night his face went numb from the blows Billy was landing on his face, hearing the horrible snap of his eye socket fracturing beneath the other boy’s fists.

“Sometimes,” Steve says honestly. “Like this, I do.”

Billy doesn’t look surprised by the answer. Steve sees his eyes flicker momentarily to the healed laceration under his eye. He almost thinks Billy will change his mind, stop the train right on its tracks and walk out. But a moment later, Billy pulls a single-use lube packet from his jacket pocket.

Steve’s mind goes blank. Had he considered this moment? If he’s being honest, no, not really. He knew that was a part of men being…intimate with each other. But he hadn’t considered that it was something Billy would want to do with him, that the only encounters he’d have with the other boy would be quick blowjobs in any and every darkened corner.

“Just an option,” Billy says after a while. It occurs to Steve that his silence has managed to make the other boy uncomfortable.

“It’s not that,” Steve supplies, biting his lip. “I’ve just never…I don’t know how, um… _that_ works.”

Billy considers this, and Steve can almost feel how careful the other boy is being, not wanting to send Steve running off, as if he were a scared animal fleeing a predator. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

The packet of lube disappears back into Billy’s pocket. Steve bites the inside of his cheek, weighing his options. It can’t be any harder than trying to figure out how to fuck a girl for the first time. At least the parts in question are ones he’s familiar with.

He wonders momentarily if Billy wants to do the fucking, or if Billy is wanting to _get_ fucked. Both options make a wave of hot arousal swoop through Steve’s stomach.

Then the image of Billy bending Steve over the counter and fucking into him from behind, whispering filthy things in his ear while slowly pumping his cock in his fist is suddenly all Steve can think about. Steve actually moans out loud, steadying himself using Billy’s hips.

“Okay,” Steve finally agrees. A fire sparks in his belly, and he leans in to speak directly into Billy’s ear. “Okay. Fuck me, Billy. Bend me over the counter and give me all you’ve got.”

Steve thinks he sees something shift in Billy’s eyes, and then he’s being kissed so hard he thinks it might be possible for Billy to climb inside of him and live within him forever. Steve honestly thinks that really wouldn’t be so bad.

Billy bites down on Steve’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. Steve knows the pressure along with the bite will leave a bruise, but the thought only makes his cock stiffen in his jeans.

Somewhere, in a dark corner of his mind, Steve knows that he’s completely gone on Billy Hargrove. The boy has managed to crawl into that hollow space within his chest and make a home, and Steve knows that it’s beyond dangerous. It’s stupidity at this point. He knows better than to let someone fill those empty spaces within himself, knows it will only leave him fractured and destroyed when it ends. But with the way Billy presses sweet kisses along the curve of his jaw, peppering them up to his ear before sucking on the lobe, Steve honestly can’t bring himself to care.

They’ve never done anything fully naked, Steve realizes as he moves to lift his shirt over his head. It would have been far too intimate in those crowded corners, too much to think about with the weight of someone’s cock in his mouth. But god, he wants Billy get his mouth all over Steve’s chest, wants him to work his magic tongue over Steve’s nipples and bite and suck deep bruises into his skin.

Billy runs his hands over the length of Steve’s torso. He knows he’s not built like Billy, all tan skin and hard muscles. Steve’s pale and covered in delicate moles, but he plays enough sports and works out enough to be proud of his physique. If Billy is at all disappointed, he doesn’t show it.

“Pretty,” Billy breathes, not seeming to know where to start. Just that simple word is enough to make Steve’s heart do a funny dance.

Billy’s fingers play connect the dots with the moles scattered across Steve’s chest with a soft smile. In fact, Steve thinks its the softest Billy’s ever looked. There’s no tension being held in his shoulders, he’s relaxed and, dare Steve even think it, content. Steve wants to kiss him, so he does.

For the first few moments of the kiss, it’s gentle and almost…loving. It makes Steve’s head spin, but it also scares him. So he moves to grab a handful of Billy’s ass, squeezing his fingers around one of the cheeks.

Steve deepens the kiss, turning it into something more animalistic, sucking on Billy’s tongue. His hands struggle to shove the jacket down Billy’s arms, then they roughly yank his t-shirt over his head. He doesn’t bother looking at where he discards each item.

Steve pushes Billy back to greedily drink in the sight of his torso. His hands automatically reach out, thumbs brushing over the sweet peaks of Billy’s nipples. They harden under the pads of his thumbs, and Steve can’t help but dive forward and suck one between his lips. He works the bud between his teeth, nibbling and sucking. His only complaint is that he can’t see the expression on Billy’s face as he does.

“That’s it,” Billy moans, his hands petting Steve’s hair softly. “Feels so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Billy’s skin tastes almost like candy. It’s either that, or Steve has become so sincerely fucked that Billy has simply become the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever experienced.

Too soon, Billy pushes Steve back. Steve opens his mouth to complain, but Billy shushes him with a kiss as his hands move down to make quick work of his button and fly. A shudder runs through him as the other boy motions for him to step out of his jeans and underwear. A hot flush spreads over what feels like the entire top half of Steve’s body. He doesn’t dwell on it, kicking his clothes away from their feet.

Billy presses soft kisses to the moles on Steve’s chest, pinching one of his nipples and rolling it between his fingers. Steve tosses his head back, feeling his cock jump.

“Good?” Billy asks, but it’s a question that doesn’t need an answer, because Steve has his head thrown back in pleasure and is openly panting out Billy’s name. “Fucking Christ, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over yourself.”

Steve whimpers when Billy’s hand slides down and swipes a finger over the flushed, leaking head of his cock. He pulls his hand back up, popping his finger into his mouth and sucking it clean. Steve watches him through heavily lidded eyes, his dick giving an interested twitch.

“Is that what I do to you, Stevie?” Billy purrs in his ear, wrapping a hand around his hardened length. Steve’s eyes roll back into his head. “Yeah? You always make such a perfect fucking mess for me.”

“Yes, Billy,  _fuck_ ,” Steve pants as Billy gives his cock a firm stroke. A thick drop of pre-cum slips down the head, slicking Billy’s hand. “God. I’m always so fucking hard for you.”

“I know baby,” Billy whispers sweetly. “Tell me what you do when you think of me.”

Steve shudders, his hips thrusting up in time with Billy’s strokes. He’s already covered in a light sheen of sweat, every part of him throbbing with need.

“Everything. I do everything,” Steve whines, playing with one of his nipples. Billy’s eyes darken as they focus in on the movement. “Even have to get myself off in the bathroom at work. Fucking my fist so goddamn hard every time I think about my cock sliding down your throat.”

Steve doesn’t know when he became a dirty talker in bed, he’d never been one before. But he supposes Billy has opened him up and scooped out all these things he hadn’t previously known about himself. Steve wonders how he’ll ever be able to feel normal again once this inevitably ends.

His mind aggressively pushes that thought into a secluded corner of his mind, slamming the door and locking it up tight.

Billy’s pumping his fist harder in time with Steve’s words, drinking up every confession spilling from his lips like they’re water and Billy is dying of thirst. Once Steve’s cock begins to stiffen even more, his hips starting to stutter and his cheeks flushing dark red, Billy releases him and combs through his hair. Steve whines pitifully.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you, c’mon,” Billy murmurs brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek. “You can’t cum yet, sweetheart. We’ve got more to do.”

Steve nods in acknowledgement, opening his eyes. He tries to calm his ragged breathing and the rapid beating of his heart.

Billy licks his lips. “Turn around for me.”

Steve’s head is cloudy with lust, but he complies easily. He hears Billy hiss when he automatically drapes himself over the counter, resting his heated cheek against the chilled marble.

“I have to get you ready,” Billy says, his voice unexpectedly soothing. “It might feel weird at first.”

Steve sighs easily, his eyes fluttering closed. “I trust you.”

There’s a moment of shuffling coming from behind him, presumably Billy shifting onto his knees to get better access to Steve’s ass. The cold rush of air over the newly exposed skin is a pleasant surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the warm wetness that spreads over Steve’s exposed hole for the first time.

Steve yelps in surprise, realizing Billy just ran the flat of his tongue up the length of Steve’s ass, paying particular attention to the pucker of his hole. “Do that again,” Steve pants, his eyes blown wide.

Billy chuckles. “Don’t worry, princess. There’s a lot more where that came from.”

When the other boy dives back in, Steve thinks every nerve ending in his body comes alive. Billy spreads Steve’s cheeks once again, his tongue lapping over his skin with expert precision. Steve’s thighs tremble and his cock throbs. Part of him wonders if he could cum just like this, with Billy’s tongue licking sweetly over his hole in gentle strokes. At this point, Steve thinks he could blow his load just by _looking_ at Billy.

The first time Billy’s tongue breaches Steve’s tight ring of muscle, Steve emits a broken moan that vibrates through him like a punch to the gut. Billy dives in deeper, working him open with his mouth and tongue. Steve feels like he’s on fire.

“Oh my god,” Steve pants, trying to find some purchase on the countertop.

Billy’s tongue slides free from Steve’s hole, only for his mouth to begin sucking on Steve’s rim. At this, Steve cries out. Billy begins to alternate between opening up his hole with deep strokes of his tongue and sucking on his rim, his fingers holding onto Steve’s cheeks in a grip that he knows will leave handprint-shaped bruises in their wake.

It seems like hours go by, with Billy’s tongue devouring Steve’s ass and Steve becoming a shaking, desperate mess.

“ _Billy_ , baby, fuck,” Steve pleads. “Please fuck me, _please_.”

“Okay, sweetheart, we’re almost there,” Billy says sweetly. His mouth leaves Steve’s ass and he hears Billy stand. Steve’s muscles tremble, and he turns his head to see Billy spreading a thick coating of lube over his fingers. Billy meets his eyes as he reaches down to slather the liquid over his hole. Steve’s lips part, a soft _oh_ passing his lips as his eyelids flutter shut.

Then Billy leans down to kiss him, so fucking sweetly. Steve is just thinking, stupidly, that he’s so goddamn in love that his soul is practically on fire, when one of Billy’s slick fingers begins to breach his hole. Steve inhales sharply, his toes curling.

“Relax,” Billy murmurs as he pulls away from Steve’s lips. “I promise it feels better when you relax.”

“‘S weird,” Steve notes, “but not bad.”

Billy nods. “I know, you’re doing so good for me.”

Steve has come to learn that this intimacy between them softens Billy more than anything. There hasn’t been any other moment where Steve has seen, heard, or felt Billy be as gentle and kind as he is when he’s trying to make Steve feel good. Steve wonders, pathetically, if these moments are a sign of Billy’s potential to love him too.

Billy’s finger has since slipped further into his hole in slow, gentle strokes. The intrusion is foreign at first, not as soft as Billy’s tongue had been. There’s a bit more of a burn, but Billy’s fingers are long and thick enough to make the drag of his finger spark something in Steve just so. It’s a strange sort of pleasure, but Steve certainly sees the appeal.

The second finger is added when Billy feels as though Steve’s hole is ready for the accommodation, but not before applying another liberal slather of lube. It burns more than the one finger, a little bit more uncomfortable, but not bad.

“You’re tensing, Stevie. Try to relax your muscles,” Billy soothes. Steve feels himself unclench, and the fingers glide in significantly smoother. “There you go, that’s perfect, angel.”

Steve preens at his choice of pet name, his cock stiffening again. It had softened significantly since Billy had begun working him open with his fingers, but not completely.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Steve gasps, his eyes flying open. His cock hardens fully as Billy strokes something inside of him that feels like a jolt of pure electricity.

“There it is,” Billy breathes, and though Steve can’t see him, he just knows he’s smiling.

The fingers inside of him slide out, and when they press back in, Billy angles them to stroke over that hot spot within him. Steve cries out, pressing himself back onto Billy’s fingers. Billy crooks them as he slides them back out, and Steve feels like he’s burning up.

Billy scissors his fingers for a few more moments, playing with that spot that almost makes Steve cry out, before adding a third. It’s a tight fit, but Billy knows how to work him open, to get his hole relaxed and loose. Soon, Steve his canting his hips back onto Billy’s fingers, desperately trying to increase the friction.

“You look so fucking pretty, baby,” Billy praises, circling his fingers over Steve’s prostate, making Steve’s whole body twitch. “So fucking perfect spread out for me. Do you feel like you’re ready for more?”

The question is genuine, so Steve takes a moment to wriggle his hips and decide. He knows that in his mind, he wants Billy to shove his cock into him right then and fuck him with reckless abandon, but he knows that would turn out very badly. Billy’s fingers easily slip and slide from his hole, his muscles stretched enough to probably fit a fourth if he tried.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod, “I’m ready, c’mon.”

There’s an uncomfortable moment when Billy’s fingers disappear from his body, leaving his hole gaping and cold from the rush of air. He angles his head to watch Billy clean off his fingers, then quickly shed his jeans and boxer briefs.

Steve thinks his cock looks even harder than it did the night he fucked Steve’s throat in that movie theater. His dick jumps in anticipation. Billy coats himself in an excessive amount of lube, then reapplies a thick coat to Steve’s hole, slipping his fingers in to slick the way.

“Okay, okay…” Billy says finally, lining himself up with the Steve’s hole. “I need you to make sure you breathe, okay? And try to relax as best as you can. You let me know if it’s too much.”

Billy drapes himself over Steve, angling his head so that he can press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve wants to tell him that he loves him, that it’s okay and he trusts him and that he’d do anything for him, even this, something that Steve never in a million, billion years would have even considered doing before now.

When the head of Billy’s cock begins to press into Steve’s hole, he automatically tenses. But remembering Billy’s words, he forces himself to relax. It stretches him out a whole hell of a lot more than Steve was expecting, more intense than the three fingers that had worked him open. Steve feels tears prick in his eyes, but he breathes through it. There’s still that electrifying spark that makes Steve’s dick twitch as Billy’s length presses in, inch by inch.

“Breathe, baby, don’t hold your breath,” Billy coaxes. Steve forces the air out of his lungs, and takes another shaky breath in. It’s harder to do than he’d thought it would be. The thickness of Billy’s length quite literally takes his breath away, similar to the feeling of getting the wind knocked out of you.

The seconds tick by slowly, and droplets of sweat drip down Steve’s forehead. It’s a sweet relief when Billy is fully buried inside Steve, his hips stilling.

“Are you okay, Steve?” Billy asks, and the proper use of his name is so intimate that Steve wants to cry out _yes_ a thousand times. “C’mon, honey, talk to me.”

Steve finally finds his voice. “I’m okay,” he pants, “just need to adjust.”

The moment feels all too real. Billy Hargrove is standing in Steve’s kitchen, with his cock buried up his ass, gentle encouragements and praises spilling from his lips. It’s hard to believe that Steve won’t have anything left to hold on to once this is over. He resolves to savor every last moment, because this ugly feeling inside of him tells him it’s most likely the last one.

When Billy reaches around to wrap a hand around Steve’s softening dick, a flare of arousal sparks inside of him. His hips lurch back, sending another spark of pleasure up his spine. Billy gives his cock a few slow strokes, his length hardening easily in his hand.

“I’m ready,” Steve asserts, bracing himself on his elbows. Billy leans forwards to press a kiss to his spine in response.

Then he’s pulling his hips back slowly, his cock almost slipping out from inside of him completely. Just when the head is about to slip free, Billy surges his hips forwards again, slowly thrusting back inside. Steve arches his spine with a small gasp.

“So fucking good, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Billy praises, changing the angle of his thrusts to search for that electrifying spot inside of him. “You’re so tight, sweetheart. So fucking tight.”

Billy has moved his hands to grasp onto Steve’s hips, so Steve reaches his own hand down and begins to pump his cock. “ _Fuck_ , baby, you’re so deep,” Steve moans, “it’s like I can feel you _everywhere_.”

In the next moment, Steve’s vision goes blurry. Billy has once again found that sensitive spot deep inside of him and has begun striking it with every thrust, matching the strokes of Steve’s hand on his cock. Everything inside of Steve feels like it’s vibrating, each of his individual nerve endings sizzling.

All Steve can manage anymore is broken cries and harsh moans of _faster_ and _harder_. Steve’s never felt more vulnerable, more exposed. But it’s so good that Steve wants to scream it out loud, to solidify whatever this dynamic is between them. He wants it to be real. He wants Billy to want it, too.

Steve almost wishes there was a mirror in front of them, so he could see Billy’s cock disappearing inside of him as his hips slap against Steve’s skin, reddening the pale softness. He wants to see how wrecked he looks, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide, the way his lips part sinfully with every stroke of Billy’s cock against his prostate.

Steve is stroking himself without rhythm, having lost it long ago. His hips are canting backwards to meet Billy’s rapid thrusts. He starts feeling the muscles of his abdomen clench and that molten heat spread through his belly.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” he pants out. His cock feels like it’s about to explode, he’s teetering on the edge but just can’t quite fling himself over. “Billy, I can’t, I don’t…”

He can’t finish his sentence, but he’s begging for something that he can’t understand. Billy yanks Steve’s hips closer, pushing into him with hard, deep thrusts.

“Cum for me, princess,” Billy orders. “I’m right here, baby, I’ve got you. Just let go.”

Steve flies over the edge, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pumps himself wildly, spurting thick ropes of cum onto the marble countertop and its wooden base.

Billy continues to thrust into Steve’s spent hole, his rhythm becoming more erratic. “God, baby, I’m so close. Gonna fill you up so fucking full.”

He gives a few more deep thrusts before he’s spilling into Steve with a shout, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside of him. There’s a few more jerks of his hips before they fully still. Then Billy’s slipping out of him, far too soon, and Steve can feel the cum slowly begin to drip out of him. It should honestly be a gross sensation, but Steve can only sigh happily.

He’s still draped across the counter when he hears Billy begin to clean up the area quietly. Steve gives a surprised twitch when Billy starts to clean him off with a damp towel. He’s already feeling the soreness start to spread, but he’s too spent to focus on it.

Steve turns when Billy hands him his underwear and jeans, slipping them on slowly, feeling a twinge with every movement. He turns around with a dopey smile, leaning in to give Billy a soft kiss. Instead, it lands on his cheek. Steve pulls back with furrowed brows, noting Billy’s expression has become his usual closed-off void.

“I should get going,” Billy says, clearing his throat. “Told Max I’d watch a movie with her tonight.”

“Oh,” Steve starts, “okay. Yeah, go ahead.”

Billy gives him one last long look before pulling on his shirt, tossing the jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his keys. He’s out the door a moment later.

Steve tries not to let himself feel disappointed, but his heart aches. He can never predict Billy’s moods, but he should know by now that Billy isn’t the type for pillow talk or post-coital snuggling. But the blank look in Billy’s eyes is what concerns Steve the most. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before, but he’d somehow thought that after Billy had literally been up his ass, he’d at least get a kiss goodbye.

In hindsight, that’s a pretty dumb thing to assume when it comes to Billy Hargrove.

Steve is heading upstairs to take a shower when he stops cold. He thinks back to Billy fucking into him, just moments before he’d spilled himself inside of him. Steve had been babbling, though he’d assumed it had just been incoherent words or phrases. His brain supplies him with a horrifying image.

“ _Yeah, Billy, fill me up. I love you so fucking much, baby, c’mon_ …”

Steve has to sink down onto the steps, his mouth dropping open in horror. He’d told Billy he loved him. He’d literally professed his love, cum drunk with a cock up his ass.

_But then he literally shot his load_ , _directly up your ass_ , his brain supplies, unhelpfully. But it doesn’t matter. Billy Hargrove is not the type to fuck around with love. That’s not what this thing between them had ever been about, at least not in the beginning, not on Billy’s end. He feels his heart lurch uncomfortably. Steve retreats to his room and crawls into bed without showering.

He’s never felt so unbelievably sick.

* * *

  _October 3, 1985_

The school year is in full swing, and the mall is as packed as ever. Steve stares vacantly at a black spot on the wall as the girl at the register giggles with her friends about their first year of high school. For the past few months, all Steve has been able to think about are the noises Billy made in his parent’s kitchen, the way he held onto Steve for dear life as he fell apart. Steve replays the scene over and over in his head, on repeat throughout the day until he feels sick.

It’s not as though when Steve had been struggling more than he’d let himself believe, he’d let someone occupy that hollow space in his chest, someone he had no business trusting with that delicate piece of himself. Except that he had, he’d misplaced his trust with Billy Hargrove. And it’s not as if he could blame Billy for that, Steve had known the consequences of his actions and he’d done it anyway.

Steve hasn’t seen Billy since. The hollow feeling in his chest is back, and Steve feels tired.

When his shift is over, he makes a quick stop by the bathroom to change. Mrs. Byers is cooking tonight for their monthly family dinner, one that he’d promised three times already that he’d attend. He’s having a hard time working up the motivation, though he knows being surrounded by the kids will lift his spirits.

Steve can hear the commotion coming from inside the house the moment he pulls up the dirt driveway. Dustin, Lucas, and Max wave at him from the front porch, hopping up from their spots to greet him halfway.

“Thank god,” Dustin whoops, “we can finally eat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, ruffling Dustin’s curls endearingly. Dustin and Lucas race each other to the house, while Max hangs back and watches Steve with clear, inquisitive eyes. He wonders if she knows. Kids are more intuitive than they let on, and he knows Max isn’t stupid. But Steve has to wonder if Billy’s behavior had changed at all, if anything different about him had caused Max to grow suspicious.

“Are you okay?” Max asks hesitantly, peering at him around the curtain of hair that frames her face.

Steve gives her a half-hearted smile. “Not really. But I will be, kiddo, in time.”

Max bites her lip, giving him one last look that makes Steve feel as though she’s peering directly into his soul, before trotting up the stairs and disappearing inside. Steve follows her into the house and veers off towards the kitchen. Will greets him with a bright smile at the kitchen table, crayons and colorful drawings covering the table around him.

“What’s up, man?” Steve greets, giving him a fist bump.

“Just working on some new characters,” Will says. “Want to see?”

He gives Steve the background on the characters in his drawings, his eyes bright and animated. Mrs. Byers watches from the stove, giving Steve one of her special smiles, the one that makes you feel safe and happy.

“That’s pretty neat, bud,” Steve says as Will wraps up his explanation. “You’ll have to draw up something for me to hang in my boring ass room. Give it a bit of color.”

“Deal,” Will replies with a nod and a goofy grin, before turning back to his illustrations.

Steve crosses the kitchen to greet Mrs. Byers, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You look tired,” she says knowingly. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes,” he lies, then heaves a sigh when she gives him her stern face. “Kind of. Some nights are easier than others.”

“I think you should try the pills Dr. Owens recommended,” Mrs. Byers starts, and Steve groans. “Steve, honey, you know I worry about you. We all do. That’s why we do this, to check on each other.”

Steve tries not to cringe at her use of the word _honey_. There’s only one person he can associate with that word anymore.

“I know, I know. I’ll think about it, okay?” Steve assures her.

He feels guilty for lying, but he doesn’t like knowing that Mrs. Byers worries about him. She already has enough on her plate, and her own children to worry about.

Steve snags one of the mini croissants off of the tray Mrs. Byers had just pulled out of the oven, giving her a lopsided grin before making his way into the living room.

“Hey, kid. How’s it going?” Hopper greets.

Steve gives him a wave. “Can’t complain, Chief.”

Actually, he can. But he pointedly keeps that to himself. It’s not like Steve could look Hopper in the eye and say _you know what? Pretty fucking terrible. I told the guy I’m fucking, who I’m supposed to have zero attachment to, that I loved him while he had his dick up my ass. Then he ditched and now I feel like absolute shit_. Steve takes a seat in the armchair.

He’s watching an intense arm wrestling match between Mike and Lucas when the front door opens, and Jonathan enters with Nancy hot on his heels. They call out their hellos, Jonathan separating from Nancy to go find his mother. Nancy makes her way over to the armchair Steve is sitting in, settling herself on one of the armrests.

“Hey,” she greets.

Steve looks up and gives her a smile. “Hey. Where’ve you guys been?”

“Jonathan had to stop by work to grab something on the way,” she replies, then narrows her eyes at him. “You look -”

“Tired?” Steve finishes for her. “So I’ve been told. I’m fine, Nance.”

Nancy gives him a knowing look, similar to the one Mrs. Byers had just given him. “I don’t believe you, but you don’t have to tell me,” she says, genuinely. “Just know that I’m here, anytime you need to talk.”

He nods, giving her another another small smile before turning back to the arm wrestling match that’s somehow still going on in front of them. Steve lets his mind wander back to Nancy’s offer. He wonders, hesitantly, if Nancy would ever be able to look at him the same if he told her what had been going on, and who it’d been going on with. He wonders if, even if she could get past the shock of it, she’d be able to understand.

The bigger part of him says yes, she would. Nancy has always been a patient listener, and Steve swears she’s the human embodiment of kindness. She may not fully understand the motivation behind Steve’s pursuits (although, he doesn’t quite understand them himself), but she’d empathize with the heartbreak. She wouldn’t judge or criticize him.

But a smaller, more bitter voice inside of him says that she would look at him with different eyes the moment she knew, and that she always would. Billy had done many horrible things, to Steve, to Max, and to so many other people. He hadn’t been a good person, and that alone would be enough for Nancy to think Steve is crazy.

Steve chews on the inside of cheek. He’s been doing it so much recently that the flesh has been bitten raw. He mostly just wants to take some time to grieve over losing Billy and move on, but another part of him wants to take the leap and talk with Nancy, have her bestow some of her kind wisdom so he could potentially figure out how the fuck to salvage the situation.

“Hey Nance, want to get some air?” Steve asks, making a split-second decision. No matter how scared he is of discussing any of this with literally anyone, this nagging voice in the back of his mind keeps insisting that if there’s a chance he could somehow have Billy back in his life, he should fucking take it.

“Sure,” she says, following him out onto the porch.

The evening air is crisp and cool, the branches of the many trees lining the Byers’ property rustling together, their trunks creaking and groaning.

After a few moments of silence, Nancy speaks. “Whatever’s going on, Steve, you can talk to me. Maybe I can find a way to help.”

“I don’t think anyone can help me solve the mess I got myself into this time, Nance,” Steve replies. “I really fucked up this time.”

Nancy considers this for a moment. “Well,” she says finally, “that may be true. I don’t know what you’re going through, but even if there’s no solution to your problem, there are always ways to cope with it, to process how you feel and grow.”

Steve sighs and looks at his feet. “Honestly, Nance, I’ve felt like shit for a long time,” is all he can think to say.

“I know,” Nancy says sadly, then meets his eyes and gives him a small smile. “You’re not very good at hiding things, you know.”

Steve laughs, nodding. “Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckles, then sobers his expression. “I didn’t know how to talk about it. If I’m being honest, I still don’t.”

Nancy doesn’t speak, letting him have a moment to gather his thoughts. He wants to just come out with it, to tell her that he _had_ found someone who could help him deal with his issues, in his own way. That then he’d fucked it all up by scaring him off, leaving Steve with a crumpled heart and what feels like chronic indigestion.

“I was low, you know? I fucked up my last semester, never took the time to figure things out like everyone else did, after everything that happened,” Steve sighs. “And now I’m scooping ice cream at the mall like an asshole.”

Nancy furrows her brows. “No one has everything figured out, Steve, not even me. It’s okay to not be sure of where to go next. That’s what life is like, you know? Just pretending like you know what you’re doing until you actually figure it out.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way,” Steve says with a laugh. “With everything we’ve been through, I guess…I guess sometimes it just seems like there’s not much hope left for anything.”

“I feel that way too, sometimes,” Nancy says, her voice small. “I sometimes still feel like we need to look over our shoulders every second, like something horrible is bound to happen. And I still see everything we’ve lost, all the time.”

“Yeah?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah.”

Steve gazes out across the yard. “How do you deal with it?”

Nancy shrugs. “Sometimes I just cry. It feels good to cry,” she tells him. “But sometimes Jonathan and I just sit and let ourselves remember the ones who aren’t here anymore. It helps, sometimes, to not be alone, and to remember them.”

“Yeah, it does,” Steve sighs.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” Nancy says quickly, “I didn’t mean -”

Steve stops her mid-sentence. “It’s okay, Nance. I didn’t mean it that way.” Nancy gives him an inquisitive look, so he says, “I found someone who made things easier.”

“Oh,” she says softly. “I didn’t know.”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to find anything to look at other than her. It’s the moment of truth, and Steve is scared out of his fucking mind.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell anyone,” Steve says finally. “I wasn’t sure I could.”

“Why? Who was it?” Nancy asks, her head tilting to the side ever-so-slightly.

Steve can feel the tips of his ears go red, and he wrings his hands anxiously. “Billy.”

“ _Hargrove_?” Nancy gasps. “Wait, I’m confused. You and Billy are friends now?”

_God_ , Steve thinks, _now I have to explain to her that no, I did not become friends with Billy Hargrove. He pulled me into a broom closet to suck me off and I’ve been off my fucking rocker ever since._

“I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly.” Steve’s face twists unpleasantly as he says it.

He watches Nancy go from confused, to shocked, to more confused, to understanding, and finally to sad. Steve feels like he’s teetering on the edge, waiting for her to respond. It’s the moment of truth, either she thinks he’s a freak, or she wants to help.

“Oh, Steve,” she says sadly, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m so sorry. We love you, you know that? No matter who you love, we’ll always support you.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles into her shoulder. “It’s just…he’s Billy, you know? He’s a grade A asshole.”

Nancy pulls away with a small chuckle. “Yeah, but you can be too sometimes, you know,” she says, giving him an endearing smile.

“That’s true,” he agrees. “But things aren’t, uh, going very well with us. At the moment.”

She leans up against the railing and asks, “what happened?”

“We, well. Something happened,” Steve says, his face flushing bright red, “and I told him that I loved him. On accident. I didn’t even remember it happening. But he bailed, and I haven’t seen him since. It’s not like I’m surprised, you know? It’s Billy. But it still really fucking sucks.”

“Well, Steve,” Nancy says with a sigh, “I don’t think this is a situation you yourself can fix. If he freaked out, then he has to decide what he wants to do. No one can make the decision for him.”

_That’s the thing_ , he thinks bitterly, _I’m pretty sure I have my answer_. Steve says as much.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she says with a sad smile. “It won’t hurt forever, you know that. These things get better with time.”

Steve pulls her into another hug. When he lets her go, he says, “thanks, Nance. For listening to me. And for not judging, or whatever.”

He almost sounds like Billy, unable to properly communicate his emotions without coating it in a layer of bullshit first. Then, Mrs. Byers shouts that dinner is ready, and Nancy turns to head into the house.

“You coming?” She asks, turning back to look at him.

He tells her that he’ll just be a minute, and Nancy nods, heading inside. Steve takes one last look out at the yard, considering Nancy’s words.

Something had settled inside of him. Maybe Billy wanted to fuck off like an asshole, and maybe Steve could live with that. But the people who love him here, these people aren’t arbitrary, they’re all of the reasons he gets up in the morning and keeps trying to live a life that’s worth something.

Billy doesn’t have to be a part of that for Steve to feel healed.

* * *

  _December 9, 1985_

Steve is tangled up in a string of multicolored bulbs, somehow having gotten them wrapped around himself while attempting to untangle a knot. His parents have jetted off again to a destination that Steve has since forgotten the name of. He’s alone in the house, sipping hot cocoa and trying to pretend like putting up decorations alone like an orphan in a sad Christmas movie isn’t as depressing as it sounds.

It’s snowing rather heavily out, which had helped lift Steve’s spirits a little. And he has plans to go over to help Dustin and his mother bake Christmas cookies later this evening, unless the storm gets any worse. His entire morning, however, has been free. The one lonely box of Christmas decorations and the simple faux tree in his garage had called to him, so Steve had spent most of the morning attempting to make the house more festive.

It hadn’t cheered him up as much as he’d hoped it would.

Steve turns off the Christmas music, opting instead to turn the television on to _Frosty the Snowman_. Satisfied with the background noise, he goes back to fucking with the lights. He gets them untangled, and is just starting to wind them around the tree when he hears two quick raps on the door.

Steve tries to look out the window to see if it’s just carolers, but the snow has coated the front shrubs too heavily, obscuring his view.

There’s a final knock and Steve finally walks over, swinging open the door. “The hell are you doing here?” is Steve’s immediate response.

Billy stands awkwardly on his porch, probably more awkward than Steve’s ever seen him. “Can I come in?” he asks, his teeth finally letting go of the lip they’d been chewing on.

Steve wants to say no, he wants to tell him to fuck off and leave him alone. But Steve also wants to tell him that he’s an asshole. That what he did sucked pretty fucking badly. Instead, he wordlessly steps aside, letting Billy walk past him into the house. He shuts the door more forcefully than he’d honestly intended to, feeling guilty when Billy flinches.

“I wanted to give you something,” Billy says finally. He’s in Steve’s favorite pair of jeans, the ones that make his ass look so good it makes the angels cry. Steve tries not to focus on this, focusing instead on remaining silent.

Billy thrusts out a hand, which is holding a small box. Steve hesitates before taking it. When he opens it, his brows furrow. It’s a necklace, the one of the Virgin Mary that Steve has always seen hanging around Billy’s neck. “Why are you giving me this?” Steve asks finally, looking up and meeting Billy’s eyes.

There’s a long silence where Billy seems to be trying to figure out what to say, some internal war going on inside of him. Finally, he huffs in frustration and throws his hands up. “Look, I’m no good at this shit, alright? Any of it.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Steve says, and he means it. He needs to know exactly what Billy is referring to, he has to hear him say it.

Billy gestures wildly between them. “ _This_. Us. Whatever,” he says, struggling enough that Steve almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“What about us?” Steve asks flatly. “I wasn’t aware there was an us.”

There’s no mistaking Billy’s flinch this time. “Would you quit being so goddamn stubborn?” Billy asks after a momentary pause, the frustration in his voice unmistakable.

“ _Me_? Stubborn? You bailed, man. For _months_. If anyone’s been stubborn, it’s been you,” Steve snaps. It has an air of finality to it, but he finds himself pathetically hoping Billy won’t just leave it at that and walk out.

Steve waits for Billy to say something. He hasn’t made any move to leave, and instead has taken to looking directly at his shoes. Steve wishes he could look into Billy’s head, just for a moment, and see the truth. He knows that at this particular point in his life, Billy has not developed the ability to truly convey his emotions, to allow himself to be vulnerable with anyone, even himself. But part of Steve desperately wishes he could, just this once, really understand the boy in front of him.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Billy says finally. His voice suddenly sounds very small, and in that moment he looks inexplicably young.

Steve’s eyes soften. “I didn’t either,” he replies. “But we could’ve figured it out together. Me and you.”

Billy looks away, and Steve watches him take a deep, steady breath. “I’m a goddamn asshole. I know that. But this whole time…” Billy falters. His cheeks fill with color. “This whole time I never stopped, you know. Thinking about you. Wishing I could be somebody better.”

“Billy,” Steve says gently, “I didn’t want you to be better. I just wanted you to be with me.”

It seems as if the whole world comes to a grinding halt, and everything at once has focused singularly on the two of them. It feels as though it’s the tipping point, the point where they make either the choice to keep going the way they’re going, or jump headfirst into something that terrifies the shit out of both of them.

Steve hopes Billy chooses the second option. But Billy has to say it, he has to tell him he wants it. Steve needs the confirmation, he needs to know that it’s real.

“I can’t say it back,” Billy finally says, almost desperately. “What you said to me that day. I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says softly, “you don’t have to. I just…need to know that you want this too.”

Billy meets his eyes and Steve feels the electricity crackle between them. He resists the urge to reach out, to bring Billy close to him, instead patiently giving him time to respond.  

“Yeah,” Billy replies, “I do. Want this. You.”

_It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle_ , is all Steve can think for a long moment. He’s just watching the other boy with big eyes, trying to make sure that this moment is real, that it’s really actually happening. That Billy Hargrove is actually standing in his foyer telling him that he wants to do this thing for real.

Billy is the first one to move, taking a tentative step forward. When Steve’s brain finally comes back online, he closes the distance between them, pulling Billy in for a kiss. He kisses him sweetly, softly, in all the ways he’d wanted to but never could. Steve grins against Billy’s mouth, letting his hands tangle in his curls.

When they pull apart, Billy hesitates, almost as if he doesn’t know what to do next. Steve supposes that he probably doesn’t. He takes Billy’s hand, leading him into the living room where the lights and decorations are strewn all over the floor. Steve may be inexperienced in a lot of ways, but he knows how to navigate a relationship, he knows how to show Billy the way.

“C’mon, help me decorate,” Steve suggests, picking up the string of lights he’d been trying to wrap around the tree. Billy looks at the lump in Steve’s pocket, where he’d absentmindedly shoved the gift the other boy had given him. “Oh, right. Help me put it on?”

Billy steps over a wad of tissue paper and a box of ornamental bulbs, then takes the necklace from Steve and fastens it easily around his neck. Steve turns towards Billy, holding the pendant between his thumb and index finger.

“It suits you,” Billy says, and Steve looks up to find Billy watching him with gentle eyes.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, his smile growing wider.

Instead of answering, Billy pulls Steve in by the drawstring of his sweatpants, placing a kiss on his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. Steve now understands why girls go crazy for that stuff. It makes your knees wobbly and your heart flutter in the best way.

“Softie,” Steve jokes lightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth.

Billy gives him a small smile, the one Steve is pretty sure is reserved just for him. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

It’s not perfect, Steve thinks, but it’s them. And that’s more than Steve ever could have hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really know, but i hope this was enjoyable. there may be a billy/steve christmas smut follow-up to this at some point in the future, so be on the lookout for that, you know. whatever floats you scrote. you can find me on tumblr at [hartigays](https://hartigays.tumblr.com/) :-)


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